


Saint George killing the Dragon

by ICryYouMercy (TrafalgarsLaw)



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, dragons! and mentions of leeks!, embarrassing tattoos, mockery of national symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2151738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrafalgarsLaw/pseuds/ICryYouMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there are complementary tattoos, questionable treatment of a religious fable, and mockery</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saint George killing the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> The Fluellen fandom decided that clearly, there needed to be dragons. And then dragon-tattoos happened, and then this happened. I'm not even really sorry.

Fluellen is not embarrassed about his tattoo, not as such. Because he likes the dragon, and he likes the way it’s placed just so, that his femoral pulse runs straight underneath the dragon’s neck, and the splash of bright red against skin pale from lack of exposure to sunlight.

The only trouble is that he was sixteen, and drunk, and it hurt like all hell, and at the same time felt good enough that he almost, almost embarrassed himself. And of course, with Fluellen being Fluellen, he actually told Gower that story when Gower asked about the tattoo, and Gower hasn’t let him live it down ever since.

And it doesn’t matter that you are supposed to make terrible decisions at sixteen, and it doesn’t matter that the motive didn’t end up in a more embarrassing place, Gower still thinks it’s entirely too hilarious that someone as restrained and strictly controlled as Fluellen managed to be young and drunk enough for such an impulsive, and yet so incredibly typical decision.

Of course, Gower himself is far from innocent, in that respect, but he has so far been incredibly careful about letting Fluellen touch him, and he has been so incredibly proud of managing to hide from Fluellen for so long.

Being Gower, though, he starts to get careless. He’s kneeling before Fluellen, his mouth rather occupied, and Fluellen’s hands running helplessly through his hair, trying in vain to grip strands that have been cut just a little too short, and Gower’s own hands are rather busy as well, one of them absentmindedly caressing that dragon tattoo, and the other one resting between Gower’s thighs, distracted movements a rather futile attempt at either relief or control.

So he draws back hastily, breathless and flushed, because he doesn’t want this to end too soon, wants to draw it out as long as he possibly can (or at least as long as Fluellen will let him), and it doesn’t help, because now he can actually look at Fluellen, tense and desperate, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths, and his hips twisting and pushing forward ever-so-slightly, as though he can’t quite control himself anymore, and Gower, needing to distract himself, settles for the first available subject, says, ‘Really? A dragon? Was there nothing more obvious?’

Fluellen’s hands grasp helplessly at his hair, and Gower feels himself being pulled closer again, doesn’t resist, but doesn’t continue what he had just stopped, instead traces his fingers over the tattoo again, says ‘Didn’t you want a leek, too?’

And Fluellen makes a sound that is as much annoyance as frustration, and then, finally, looks down at Gower, and Gower realises just a bit too late how short his hair currently is, and what Fluellen will not be able to avoid seeing. A hand moves heavily downwards, covering the back of his neck, and the red-and-white evidence of another decision made while drunk and young. ‘At least I am not profaning my saints,’ Fluellen tells him, an undertone of amusement running through his rough voice.

And then the hand on Gower’s neck tightens, tilts his head just slightly upwards, pulls him forwards, and Gower can’t help opening his mouth again, the offer and command too tempting to resist for longer, and neither of them says much for the next, long moments.

When it’s over, and they have both managed to catch their breath again, Fluellen smiles at him, something sharp and light that would almost look innocent on another’s face, and observes that maybe, Gower did get it right, even though Saint George could hardly approve of such a manner of killing dragons.

Gower doesn’t punch him, but only because he is still feeling far too satisfied and relaxed to muster the necessary energy.


End file.
